Chapter Fifteen
On the fifth of the same month, after lunch, Nikolai was telling me one of the famous stories about Khritoysh and the Blood Dragon Tovan, who had copper scales. Even though I didn't fully believe in those religious matters, the stories from the Oshbik holy book were always worth listening to, especially with a box of popcorn.
He narrated how Khritoysh was tasked by the Sacred Dragon to exterminate the ancient and tyrannical eastern empire that enslaved its people. Khritoysh set out to save his children from the massacres, committing a slaughter against that oppressive empire, killing the great oppressors and crushing the small perverts. He killed horses that weren't used in raids and sacrificed offerings for the sad victor who had slain his sons, the oppressors, for the sake of the righteous among them.
The battle between good and evil always had two colors—black and white. Right and wrong. Whoever didn't stand by Khritoysh perished by his thunderous spear, crafted from the white wood of heaven, as white as marble. It turned red from the blood of monsters and demons.
The battle went on, and when defeat seemed imminent for both the dragon and the great warrior, the Sacred Dragon fused what was left of its life with Khritoysh's red spear… The battle lasted for months, with new corpses piling atop the decaying ones.
Finally, on top of the high mountain of bodies, the spear with twin blades and dragon wings from both sides rose, with the crimson sun setting behind it. It was a sacrifice that ended on the 80th day of its beginning. Good triumphed, just for the dawn of a new day, and the battle between black and white ceased. But the red remained, symbolizing Khritoysh's sacrifice for the truth and the remnants of humanity.
Thus, Nikolai believed that life had two sides: black and white, right and wrong, truth and illusion. And in my opinion, that's why he was so attached to these kinds of causes and beliefs. At that moment, as I lay on my bed with my head resting on my left hand, facing Nikolai, someone said, "It's Makar."
We quickly stood up, made our beds in a hurry, and stood in line next to them. Makar didn't enter the barracks but peeked in and nodded toward Nikolai, then left. I watched as Nikolai followed Makar, with some of the other volunteers' eyes following them as well.
After they left, a volunteer named Cooper said, "Why would Makar call Nikolai and not someone else?"
"I don't know," I replied.
In fact, I knew that Nikolai worked in the camp's command office, writing petitions and letters and helping draft some speeches that were delivered to the volunteers. Of course, some didn't know that. It was because Nikolai grew up with a father who ran a place of worship. Nikolai was like a priest or a small preacher in the camp, as he knew many verses and quotes from the Oshbik holy book. This gave a glimpse of the pampered adolescence this young man had, in my opinion.
I couldn't compare myself to him. While fathers celebrated New Year's with their sons, my father was pushing my head into cold, dirty mud.
I wonder how someone like me and someone like Nikolai ended up together in a place like this.